Marvel: From Under the Ice
by LadyOfTheSouthernIsles
Summary: The light of day in his eyes, a longing for life... And a past he needs to make peace with. (Post-Captain America: Civil War)
1. Nothing Quiet in Here

_Disclaimer:_ _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work._

 _._

* * *

 _._

 **Chapter 1: Nothing Quiet in Here**

.

 _A wiped mind is a quiet mind..._

The light of day in his eyes, a longing for life: the choice is his. _Zhelaniye_. He speaks, breathes rusted words from dead men's tongues. There's nothing left of choice at all. _Rzhavyy_. Seventeen lions, the price too high. He's forced to pay it anyway. _Semnadtsat_. His soul. And the daybreak of another age - _Rassvet_ \- in a blazing furnace of ice. _Pech_. Every face, there with him now (how they'd loved their lives, then came the assassin) while the nine-headed serpent shreds the ghost and the gods of the Nine Realms weep but not for him. _Devyat_. For him. The long cold sleep. _Dobroserdechnyy_. An absence of death, benign. And the world, it turns. To coming home and 'mission report'. Another head to nail to the door. _Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu._ The One called 'friend'. Found wanting in his damning eyes, an empty heart and heartless mind: a twisted, broken thing. Oh, _Odin_. Then the freight car falls. Or he's falling. _Gruzovoy vagon. A_ nd falls, warm light on his face, the sun and a longing for life: a world of choice before him. But the words tumble out of the newsagent's eyes, and his mind becomes meat for the grinder.

 _...and there's nothing quiet in here._

... ... ...

"Bring him out."

The med tech's eyes widened in surprise. "You - you are certain, sir?"

T'Challa turned to face her. The question was not an unreasonable one and he softened his tone. "Bring him out. We will have to take the risk." He glanced down at the charts in his hand, at the spiked lines of a mind in distress and a body fighting to save it. He had thought about nothing else for the last two days, ever since the doctors had shown him the change in the readings, and it always came back to this. Yet no one was in any way ready for it, least of all the man in the cryo-chamber. T'Challa looked up and met Zukelwa's uneasy gaze. "It's the only thing we can do."

"Yes sir," she said. "I'll assemble the team at once."

As she turned to walk away, the Wakandan king spoke again, more to himself than to her. "And I will see to the rest." He continued to stare at the frozen man behind the viewing pane, and Zukelwa nodded and left the room.

It had been difficult enough keeping the world at bay when James Barnes was in cryo; it would be harder once they brought him out. Even here in Wakanda there was a need to keep his presence a secret from all but a select group: the designers and engineers who were working on a replacement vibranium arm for him, the scientists who were still trying to devise a way to neutralize the Hydra trigger words, and a few trusted advisors. Of necessity, that group would grow in size now; Barnes would need the support of a range of therapists once he was out of stasis, and there were security measures to put in place. T'Challa knew he might lose control of the situation at any moment. Enough people were already suspicious, both inside and outside of Wakanda, but he was as determined as ever to salvage something out of the senseless death of his father. It wasn't easy though...

 _The Winter Soldier._ That was all that the United Nations saw, all the governments of the world and various law enforcement agencies saw. All that Tony Stark saw. And they all wanted James Barnes to pay for what the Soldier had done as Hydra's brainwashed, weaponized 'asset'. That Barnes had also been a victim seemed to count for nothing. T'Challa had quickly realised the futility of trying to change their minds when he had turned Zemo over to the CIA and so he had heeded his inner voice to keep silent on Barnes's whereabouts. He would continue to provide sanctuary to the man until he was as mentally whole and healed as possible and although Barnes would eventually have to face a reckoning of one sort or another, if he could do so with a fighting chance then T'Challa would count himself satisfied with that.

For now though, there were more immediate practicalities to see to. There was a lot that had to be arranged over the next twenty-four hours and there were certain people outside of Wakanda who needed to know about this latest development. After one last look at James Barnes, T'Challa turned on his heel and left the lab.

… … …

It was the warm sun on his face that broke through the drift of sleep and for a few moments the day seemed no different to any other: sluggish air creeping in through the window, the choking smell of exhaust fumes rising up from the street below, the discordant sound of humanity as it barreled along through another sticky summer morning. And then the previous day's news roared to life in Steve's head and the new day morphed into something altogether different.

 _They'd woken him up. Bucky. Brought him out of cryo._

Steve flung his forearm over his eyes and groaned. Not enough sleep and too many thoughts. Still, he was surprised he had slept at all. His mind had gone into overdrive after Professor Sontonga had delivered T'Challa's message.

She had bumped into him by the coffee cart, knocking his drink out of his hand. _My fault_ , she said. _Please, let me buy you a new one._ He had recognized the Wakandan accent straight away, if not the woman herself. A seemingly accidental meeting then (because there was always someone watching), and in person (because there was always someone listening on the wires.)

A few doors along, coffees in hand, they had sat on the tattered stoop of an old building, expressions neutral, reactions dialed down: just shooting the breeze as far as anyone was concerned.

Today was her fourth day of seven in New York, she told him. A visit arranged at short notice to deliver a lecture at Columbia, which she had done yesterday. She would be sightseeing for the next few days before flying back to Wakanda. _Oh, and by the way, your friend is awake._

There had been the briefest pause and then Steve had asked, _Cured?_

 _No_ , she replied. His friend had been dreaming in stasis... nightmares really. Unheard of before, and kinder to bring him out rather than leave him in there, suffering in frozen silence.

 _I can be there in two day_ s, Steve had said.

Her reply had been another 'no'. The governments of the world, and Tony Stark, and all the other forces arrayed against James Buchanan Barnes were watching Wakanda as closely as ever. Captain Rogers' presence would only fuel their suspicions. He should stay here in Brooklyn for the time being, and could trust that precautions had been put in place and alternative therapies were being trialed with his friend.

She was right, Steve realized. A lot of questions would be asked if he took off for Wakanda now. He didn't want to make things any more difficult for T'Challa - and, by extension, Bucky - than they already were. There was nothing he could do. At least, not yet. So he had chatted with the older woman for a few minutes more - about the weather, some sights she might like to see - and then he'd thanked her and wished her a safe trip home, and they had gone their separate ways...

 _Time to get moving._ Tossing back the covers, Steve sat up. _Carry on as if it were any other day._ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He was due for work at the Veterans' Center in an hour and then later that evening he was going over to Sam's place for dinner. Sharon was up from D.C. so she would be there too. _Just another normal day._ He could tell them the news.


	2. Loveday of the Elders

**Chapter 2: Loveday of the Elders  
**

.

 _Hidden in the blue hours, in the dying light and growing. A spectral breath, sublime. Fleeting liminal transcendence. The veil, it lifts; she feels it. In vast currents time has no meaning. She is Loveday of the Chime Hours, Loveday of the Elders. A charred and twisted thing crawling up from out the well_ _…_

Loveday Nanscawen watched out the kitchen window as darkness came down. Ribbons of mauve and gold threaded through the midnight-blue sky and the fireflies began to glow in the trees, like stars fallen to earth _. Dusk. One of the magic times_ _…_ She shook off her fancies (old familiars now) and ran out onto the terrace to get a better view. It wouldn't last long. As she breathed in the clean evening air, she was struck again by the whisper of change coming. Strange, she thought. The meaning had revealed itself several days ago. What else could be left to divine?

Before she could think on it further, another feeling crowded in: her friend and colleague, Aviwe Sontonga, would be home soon. Loveday turned away from the rustling night and hurried back into the kitchen. She needed to check on dinner. A short while later, as she was stirring the stew and singing softly to herself, she heard the front door open. She broke off her tune and put down the ladle as her friend called out.

"Is that you, Loveday?" Aviwe wheeled her suitcase into the living room and shut the door behind her.

"Aye," replied Loveday, hurrying out from the kitchen in a swirl of green lace and muslin and a rush of words. "You made good time. I had a feelin' you'd be early. How did your lecture at Columbia go?"

"Very well, thank you," said Aviwe. She sat down, kicked off her shoes, and relaxed back into the couch. "I'm glad to be home though. We had a tail wind most of the way." 

Loveday tucked a stray curl behind her ear, once and then again with vigour when it didn't stay put the first time. "I hope you don't mind me letting m'self in, but I thought you might like something decent to eat after your travels."

"You know you're welcome any time," Aviwe assured her. "And you're a godsend. I _would_ like a nice meal. Thank you." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"Are you not well?" asked Loveday, starting forward with concern. 

"It's only a headache. From being stuck in a plane for fifteen hours."

Loveday let out her breath and half-turned towards the kitchen. "I'll make a cup of tea then. It'll help clear the fog."

"Coffee?" suggested Aviwe, looking up hopefully.

"Oh no! That won't do. It'll only keep 'ee awake when you'll be wantin' to sleep. No, tea's the thing."

"You English and your tea," murmured the older woman.

"Cornish, Aviwe, Cornish," corrected Loveday with a smile. "An' a good cup of tea will have 'ee feeling better in next to no time. I'll lay a charm on it to make sure." She darted away before the professor could put up any further argument.

Aviwe shook her head and closed her eyes. Her friend was a witch and though some people might be skeptical of such a claim Aviwe had seen enough over the years to know that whatever spell Loveday put on the tea, her headache would be gone within a few sips.

A short while later, Loveday was back with a laden tray. "Dinner's about half an hour away," she said as she set everything out on the coffee table. "Mebbe a little less."

"It smells wonderful. What is it?"

"Beef stew and fresh-baked bread." Loveday poured two cups of tea and handed one to the professor. "Now, tell me all about your trip. And then I have some news for you. Two pieces, in fact! But I'll tell 'ee mine over dinner."

Aviwe paused mid-sip and looked at her friend over the rim of her cup. Although rarely a still person, there was a restless energy about Loveday tonight that was unusual even for her - a sense of something bubbling under the surface. If Aviwe hadn't been so tired, she would have noticed it sooner. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me now?" she said. "Before you pop."

"No, no," replied Loveday with a wave of her hand. "We'll get New York out of the way first."

"I see," said Aviwe dryly, and she proceeded to recount her visit to Columbia and the sight-seeing she had done afterwards. She left out the real reason for the hastily-arranged trip though: her meeting with Steve Rogers. It was a shame she couldn't tell Loveday about the encounter; her friend was like a magpie when it came to anything out of the ordinary - and Captain America surely counted as that - but King T'Challa had made the need for secrecy clear. The timer in the kitchen went off as she was finishing her account of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and shortly after that, when they were sitting at the table eating, Loveday got onto the subject of her own news.

"You'll never guess what I did while you were away," she said.

"I'm sure I won't," replied Aviwe. She bit back a smile at the look on Loveday's face but after a friendship spanning more than ten years, she knew better than to try and predict the unpredictable.

"You take all the fun out of the game," said Loveday, pursing her lips. "But I'll forgive 'ee seeing as you're tired from your trip."

"You're too kind," murmured Aviwe, and it was Loveday's turn to stop herself from laughing; no one did irony quite like the professor.

"And you'll really mean that after you hear my news," she shot back.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense."

Loveday put down her knife and fork, and gave her a sly look. "I'm sure there should be some sort of fanfare for what I'm about to tell 'ee."

"You're determined to have your fun, aren't you, Loveday."

Loveday's eyes twinkled with mischief. "You know me too well. Alright then, I'll put you out of your misery." She paused, to give Aviwe a chance to say something, but when it became clear the professor wasn't rising to the bait she sighed. "You're a cruel woman, Aviwe Sontonga. It's a good thing I'm so kind - to make up for 'ee."

Aviwe rolled her eyes at that and started eating again; she doubted Loveday was done with her 'fun' yet.

"I got us permission to visit that new archaeological site over the border," said Loveday casually. "You know, the one Johann de Vries thinks he owns."

Aviwe's head shot up. It took a second for the words to sink in and then her knife and fork hit the plate with a clang. "Are you serious?"

"Well, it's not so new now," said Loveday, "if an archaeological site can ever be called 'new', but yes, I'm serious. I wouldn't jest about something like that. I know how much it means to you."

"Oh, Loveday," whispered the professor, her mind going to work on the possibilities. From what she had heard of the site, the data she could gather there had the potential to make a significant contribution to her own research… It suddenly occurred to her that there might have been some sort of misunderstanding. "It was actually Johann who said we could visit? After all those times he said 'no'?"

"It was the man himself, and after all those times he said 'no'. Mebbe we wore him down."

Aviwe snorted. "An avalanche wouldn't wear down Johann de Vries," she muttered. Johann was not so much a fellow academic as a rival one, and that was entirely by his choice. Cooperation with colleagues was low on his list of priorities. That he would allow her access to the site… She pinned Loveday with a sharp look. "You didn't put a spell on him, did you?"

A small frown creased Loveday's brow. "Now that's what was strange," she said. "I was certain he'd say no and I was going t' lay a charm on him. But I didn't have to because he said 'yes' instead." She thought for a moment before adding, "An' I wasn't particularly charming to him either so it can't have been that."

"He'll change his mind," said Aviwe, her shoulders slumping. "It's too good to be true."

Loveday shook her head. "I don't think he will. I mean, I got the feeling he wasn't happy about it but I don't think he… _can_ change his mind. He said to contact him a bit closer to the end of the dry season, to finalise arrangements."

"I suppose I'll have to take him at his word then but I won't rest easy until we're actually on site."

"It will be something, won't it." Loveday flashed the other woman a smile. "And the planning will take your mind off the waiting."

"Now who knows who too well," said Aviwe, picking up her knife and fork again. "Thank you, Loveday. That _is_ wonderful news to come home to." She paused and looked up. "You said you had two things to tell me…"

"Oh, aye, though this second one's of more interest to me than you."

And with that, Aviwe figured out the real reason for her friend's restlessness. She stopped eating and leaned forward. "You've found something on your Summer Lady!"

Loveday's face transformed at the professor's words. She broke into a wide smile and looked about as happy as Aviwe had ever seen her. "I have," she confirmed, pushing back her chair and jumping to her feet. "Oh, I know I shouldn't get too excited about it… Judas! It's only a few sentences in an old manuscript, but I feel like I've found the proverbial needle in a haystack."

"You're exercising admirable restraint," said Aviwe, unable to resist the temptation to do a bit of teasing of her own.

"I can't help it! You don't know how long I've been searching for this."

"I do," Aviwe reminded her gently. "You've told me."

"That I have," said Loveday, "but knowing it with your head and knowing it with your heart are two completely different things. And you _don_ _'t_ know what all that time feels like."

"No, I don't," the professor admitted, "but I'm glad in my heart you've finally got something else to go on with in your search."

Loveday had the grace to look abashed. "You're such a good friend," she said, taking her seat again and pushing her plate out of the way. "I don't deserve your kindness."

"If there's anyone who deserves it, it's you. You saved my life once. That's a debt I can't repay."

Loveday reached out and grabbed her friend's hands. "I don't want 'ee feelin' you owe me for that. The day I wandered into your life was a lucky one for both of us. The way you've helped me over the years… And now, because of knowin' you, I've found another piece of the puzzle."

"Then I'm glad to have been the cause of something good," said Aviwe, squeezing the other woman's hands in return.

Loveday gave her a crooked smile. "Shall I tell 'ee exactly what I found?"

"Please do," Aviwe replied, and Loveday was back on her feet in an instant, flitting about the room as she spoke.

"You know those old manuscripts I've been cataloguing for Lwazi in Special Collections?"

Aviwe nodded.

"Well, not long after you left for New York, I spied a History in amongst them, written by an Irishwoman. She spent over a decade in a harem in Constantinople, in the early years of the seventeenth century."

"Right time but wrong place, surely," said Aviwe.

"That's what I thought, but a couple of lines caught my eye." Loveday stopped dead in her tracks and whirled round to face her friend. "About a Jiniri and an Englishwoman who had fought the Vizier's guards outside the city walls. The Jiniri fell in the end - turned to flames - but no matter what blows they dealt her, they couldn't kill the Englishwoman. She wouldn't stay dead!"

Aviwe raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to one side. "I can see why you're so excited," she said slowly, "but it's hardly proof they're one and the same person." She pressed on as her friend opened her mouth to argue the point. "And if they are, how did she get from a gravedigger's cart in Tyburn to an Ottoman harem?"

Loveday's mouth snapped shut and she frowned. "Oh… Judas!" she said at last, flopping down into her chair. "You're right, of course. I'm getting miles ahead of myself!"

"Miles ahead of the evidence, you mean."

"Ayes, an' that too. But I _have_ to believe it's more'n a coincidence."

"And that may well be the case," said the professor, "but you need to make the connections before you can say so with any certainty."

"I know." Loveday crossed her arms and bit the inside of her cheek. "Looks like it's back into the haystack for me."

"What else does the writer have to say about the Englishwoman?" asked Aviwe, ducking her head to hide a smile; 'haystack' was an apt metaphor. Her friend almost always conveyed the impression she'd just emerged from one, with her wild, untamed mane of curls, her eccentric style, and the assortment of treasures she carried on her person.

"Nothing," replied Loveday. "That was it. She was eighty-four when she wrote her memoirs, an' they're quite... disjointed in places. I read 'em three times, from start to finish, but there was nothin' else about either the Englishwoman or the Jiniri."

"So, what's your next step?"

Loveday regained some of her earlier sparkle as she outlined her plans. "Lwazi told me about a collection stored in one of the smaller libraries over by the medical labs. Works by sixteenth and seventeenth-century explorers who travelled through the Middle East and North Africa. I'm going to start with them. With luck, I'll find corroboration of the Irishwoman's tale and mebbe something more on the Englishwoman and the Jiniri." She paused and then added, "Of course, a name would be the best thing to find."

"It would certainly give you something more concrete to work with."

Loveday nodded. "Anyway, after the travelogues it's onto registers, inventories and tax records." She screwed up her nose. "The usual tedious slog."

"You're thinking of leaving then?" said Aviwe, not really surprised. She knew her friend would have to travel further afield than the University of Wakanda in order to pursue her new lead.

"I'm sorry," replied Loveday. She looked down at her feet. "I should have told 'ee sooner."

"I've been away," Aviwe pointed out. "You didn't exactly have the chance to."

"No, not about the Summer Lady," agreed Loveday, meeting her friend's eyes again. "But I've been thinking of leaving for a while now. You know me - I can't settle in one place for long."

"I know, my dear. Just make sure you keep in touch after you go." Aviwe gave her a pointed look.

Which Loveday chose to ignore. "I always do," she said.

"Sooner or later. When were you planning on going?"

"Not until after our trip to Johann's site. I'll have finished the literature review for your new paper by then, an' I should have managed to have a good look through those works Lwazi told me about."

At that, Aviwe was reminded of something King T'Challa had said before she left for New York. "Oh no," she exclaimed. "I've just remembered. The area next to the med labs is off-limits."

"Why?" asked Loveday. "An' for how long?"

Aviwe hesitated. She didn't like deceiving her friend, but there was no other choice. Now that James Barnes was out of cryo, he needed some sort of space. But given the need for secrecy and the fact that his Hydra programming could still be triggered, certain limits had to be set. As a result, the king had cordoned off a small area for Barnes's use and that included the library with Loveday's books.

"Well?" prompted Loveday when the silence stretched out.

Furrowing her brow, Aviwe looked away and replied. "I don't know. It's closed for renovations and it's not a short-term thing. Only a few people have permission to go in there for the moment."

"Oh!" Loveday's disappointment was evident, even in that one expression. "Perhaps someone from Loans could -"

"I don't think so," broke in Aviwe. "King T'Challa was quite clear in his instructions." She immediately wished the words back. The implied meaning would never escape Loveday's notice and, sure enough, the incredulous look on her friend's face told her it hadn't.

"The king himself," exclaimed Loveday. "I would have thought he had better things to do with his time than redecorating."

All Aviwe could do was shrug.

"Oh well," continued Loveday, lowering her chin and frowning. "I'll have to rethink my plans." She looked up and gave Aviwe a half-hearted smile. "You might have to put up with me for a while longer yet."

"It's no hardship," said the professor, meaning every word and relieved, too, that her friend was not inclined to press the matter. Loveday smiled again, a proper one this time, and they moved on to more general topics of conversation as they finished their meal. Later, when they were cleaning up, Loveday asked her what her plans were for the next day.

"Getting over this jet lag, mainly," she replied. "And I have an appointment with King T'Challa in the afternoon. To let him know how my trip went."

Loveday slid her a questioning look. "The king again," she murmured as she stacked the plates in the dishwasher.

Aviwe mentally cursed. She was obviously not cut out for subterfuge and was far too tired besides. "I'll catch up with Cebisa too," she rushed on.

"Oh! That reminds me," said Loveday, distracted from all thoughts of T'Challa. "Is she alright?"

"Y-yes," replied Aviwe, a little mystified. Cebisa was her niece and had been fine when she last spoke with her. "Why do you ask?"

"I haven't seen her since before you went away and when I texted her to come to dinner tonight, she said she couldn't. No explanation, just that. I got a feelin' there was something mebbe… I don't know. _Troubling_ her."

Aviwe knew straight away the reason for her niece's abrupt reply. Cebisa was a skilled psychotherapist and was part of the team working with James Barnes to help rid him of his Hydra programming. Like everyone else who had anything to do with him, she was sworn to secrecy and knew better than to risk letting anything slip to Loveday. "She's been very busy with a new patient," said Aviwe, more guarded in her own reply this time. "I understand he's a particularly challenging case."

Loveday, tilted her head to one side. "I think there's more -" She noticed the look of strain on her friend's face and changed tack. "That must be it then. An' shame on me for keeping 'ee up. You must be past tired."

Aviwe suddenly found it hard to keep her eyes open. "I am."

"You go to bed. I'll finish tidyin' up here."

"Thank you." Aviwe tried to hide a yawn. "I'll see you tomorrow - take a look at what you've done on the lit review so far if you like."

"Oh, don't worry about that," replied Loveday as she wiped down the bench top. "It can wait. You do what you need to. See the king! See Cebisa! Catch up on your sleep!"

Aviwe smiled. "Where do you get your energy from?"

"I ain't spent fifteen hours on a plane," said Loveday with a grin. "I've got plenty left."

"More than me at any rate. Good night, Loveday, and thank you again for dinner. And the good news about the dig site." And with that, Aviwe headed off to bed.

"'Night," Loveday called out after her. "I'll lock up when I leave," and ten minutes after that she was on her way back to her own apartment.

As she cut through the university campus, she was consumed by the problem of the library. Not even the star-studded beauty of the night or the brittle hum of the bush crickets could distract her. To have finally found mention of her Summer Lady, after all these years… (Because despite her earlier conversation with Aviwe, she didn't believe for a minute that the seventeenth-century Englishwoman in the old memoirs could be anyone else.) To hear - to _feel_ \- the whisper of change in the air. It didn't seem possible that anything could stop her now. And yet the library was off-limits…

Loveday came to a halt; she had reached the Administration Block. To her right was her usual path, and to her left lay the one that ran past the medical labs. And said library. On the spur of the moment she decided to take the left-hand path. It was the longer way home but she could check out the renovations for herself. Although Aviwe had told her they were a long-term thing, they could already be well under way or even close to being finished. It was a cheering thought and she headed off down the less familiar path with a growing sense of optimism.

The fences and hoardings soon came into view, but there were no signs of any machinery or equipment on site and for a moment Loveday thought the work might indeed be completed. As she got up close though, she saw it hadn't even started. "Oh, Judas!" she cursed under her breath. Spying a small break in one of the fences, she put her eye to it and peered through. A security light lit up the area and she was able to confirm that there wasn't even so much as a hammer or a pack of nails to be had. The delay was going to be massive and she scowled as she realised there was nothing she could do about it.

It was then that she noticed the faint glow of light through one of the windows in the complex. It was coming from an adjacent corridor and it gave her an idea. Surely no one could object if she used the library until the renovations started. At the first sign of a carpenter or a builder, she'd vacate the place and leave them to it. In the meantime, she might get in a few nights' study. It would be better than nothing.

She jogged around the perimeter looking for a way in and quickly found a Loveday-sized gap to the rear where the buildings backed onto the rainforest. Gathering up her skirts, and pushing aside the vines, she ducked through the opening.

… … …

Johann de Vries shivered and tried to pull his jacket a little tighter around his heavy frame. The day's heat had fled along with the light and he couldn't decide which of the two men in front of him he disliked more: the insufferable Justin Hammer or the arrogant, self-styled Alexander Pierce II. They were currently arguing about the best course of action to take when Aviwe Sontonga made her visit to the dig site later on in the season, and Johann was heartily sick of the pair of them. If he'd had any say in the matter, the Sontonga woman wouldn't have been allowed within a hundred miles of his site. However, the whole reason he was even here now was because of the strings Pierce Two had pulled, and he had subsequently learned that as far as Hammer and Pierce were concerned, his opinion counted for nothing. He was merely the respectable cover they needed to further their own aims.

He realised now that he should have paid more attention to their ramblings when he'd first met them; he might have had some warning this would happen and could have taken steps to ensure it didn't. Instead, he had been focused on the promise of academic glory that Pierce had dangled in front of him. And now it looked like he might have to share some of that glory with Professor Sontonga.

Or maybe not. As their _discussion_ ground on, it became clear that Pierce was all for killing the woman once he had his uncle's 'Asset' back whilst Hammer preferred to return her to Wakanda once he had his consignment of vibranium. Though he had no idea of the whys and wherefores of what each man wanted, and cared even less, Johann rather hoped Pierce would win this particular argument. He shivered again in the cold night air and wished they would hurry up and settle the matter…


	3. Alone in My Casket

**Chapter 3: Alone in My Casket**

.

 _Choking on ice. No one knows he_ _'s alive. He's been here before, served up for Death. The other five died in formaldehyde jars. "In their sleep," says Zemo. Tells him he'll die in his. And he's caught. Can't move. Knows what's coming. Sometimes it's Pierce, other times Karpov. Or Peggy or Stark. Howard and Maria. Or Fury or Wilson. There's plenty lined up. And Mom and Rebecca. Tonight, it's Steve. And they're all lined up for their pound of flesh. Hard cold metal pressed to his temple. Steve racks the slide and chambers the round. He tries to scream 'No!' but his mouth is stitched shut and the firing pin clicks as Steve pulls the trigger-_

Bucky sat bolt upright in bed, tensed for the shot. Put out an arm to brace himself - an arm that wasn't there - and fell. Instinct kicked in, or maybe an old memory of pain. He twisted his torso, flipped onto his other side before his stump hit the mattress, and lay there gasping for air, his heart pounding in his chest, skin slick with sweat. A nightmare, he realized as the urgency faded. He'd had it before. He rolled onto his back and forced his breathing to slow, willed his muscles to relax.

When he was in control again, he pushed himself up with the arm he still had and got out of bed. Ran his hand through his hair, caught sight of himself in the mirror. Flashbacked to another life… _Brooklyn, early 1930s. Him and Steve still kids. Saturday afternoon, sneaking into the movies._ _Colin Clive shouting,_ _"It's alive!" Boris Karloff writhing in flames. Frankenstein's monster. Dead men remade…_

He tore his gaze away from his reflection. No wonder the world wanted him locked away. Better if his caretakers had kept him in cryo - a kind of a prison anyway - but thank God they hadn't. At least he could wake up, escape from the nightmares. Except he couldn't, not really. The waking hours carried their own special torment - the knowledge of what he had been, what he had done. The sick feeling that he would never be able to make up for even a fraction of it... Whatever happened to him now, well, he had it coming. But he sure as hell didn't want to be frozen again.

He'd only done it for Steve, and maybe the others who had helped him (though he knew they were really only helping Steve.) From start to finish, he had been nothing but bad news. Three, four years ago, he would have killed any and all of them without hesitation and now he had cost them their jobs, their reputations, family and friends, and even their freedom in one way or another. He had driven a wedge between Steve and Tony Stark, and because of him the Avengers had ripped themselves apart, in every way they could. And worst of all, Steve had lost the life he'd made for himself in this new century.

Afterwards, during those first few weeks when the Cap had stayed with him here in Wakanda, his friend had tried to convince him it was Zemo and the Sokovia Accords that had ruined everything; it was just crummy luck that Bucky had been caught in the middle of it all. But Bucky knew better. He'd figured going back on ice was the only decent thing to do. No more bad news and never mind how he felt at the thought of stepping back into another one of those suffocating cryo-chambers, left behind once again while the world moved on. He had managed as much of a smile as he was capable of that day, and then he'd taken a deep breath and closed his eyes. _The best thing. For everybody_ …

But not for him as it turned out. He had never had any concept of time passing in cryo before. No dreams either. Until this last stretch. And then he'd learned the true meaning of the words 'eternal damnation'. T'Challa said things had been normal for the first year or so and then his readings had gone off the charts. That was when the nightmares had started, or so they told him. They'd brought him out less than a week later, but that handful of days had taken him to the end of time and back again. Everyone he'd ever killed had been there with him and he'd killed them all again. Over and over until he was drenched in their blood, had the sick-sweet stench of it in his nostrils, the metal-tang taste in his mouth. He was so stuffed full of shame it was a wonder he could move, and yet he pulled the trigger, wielded the knife, snuffed out lives like they were nothing. There was no stopping him. And the words too, in his blood and his bones, his very sinews. Holding him fast, tearing him apart. He had no idea where the Winter Soldier ended and James Buchanan Barnes began, and that terrified him almost beyond bearing. When they'd dragged him out of the chamber, his near-collapse had been due more to relief than the physical effects of coming out of cryo.

And he tried not to think about that too much either. Because for a brief, shining moment he had thought he was cured, or about to be cured. _Why else would they bring him out?_ It had been a kick in the guts to discover the Wakandan scientists weren't even close to getting rid of the trigger words Hydra had seared into his brain. Might never be…

Clenching his fist, he put the brakes on his thoughts. Stared around the room. Tried to find something - anything - to distract himself. A waste of time, he knew, but it sure beat the hell out of spending time inside his own head. The suite he had been given was bland and business-like, set aside for visiting scientists and devoid of any personal touches. Granted, it was better than anything he'd had during the last seventy years, but it wasn't his and it wasn't home… As if he even knew what that was anymore. Hell, he couldn't even imagine -

Bucky pulled himself up short. He was sliding back into his head, getting sappy again. A quick glance at the clock told him it was 4 a.m. The sun would be up in a few hours and sleep was impossible now anyway. Time to hit the library. There were whole worlds in there that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes or Winter Soldiers or the shitfest that was his life. He could lose himself in the books for a while.

He grabbed a t-shirt out of a drawer, sat down on the edge of the bed and arranged it over his thighs then manoeuvred into it. _His biggest accomplishment so far,_ he thought as he pulled the front down over his chest. Learning to dress and take care of himself with one arm. And it _was_ a big deal. It meant he didn't have to rely on anyone - not for the personal stuff, at least - and he was more than happy about that. He stood up, took his room key and swipe card off the nightstand and shoved them into the pocket of his pajama pants. As he headed towards the door, he frowned. There was still a whole crowd of people he had to rely on for other things though - physiotherapists, psychotherapists, psychiatrists, prosthetists, doctors, nurses, scientists… all working to fix some part of him. The lock on the door clicked behind him and he started off down the verandah.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for their efforts. He knew what they were trying to do, and what's more they treated him like he mattered. Included him in decisions about his rehabilitation, almost tiptoed around his feelings. It was just… he wasn't used to it. Hydra had hauled him around like a slab of meat for almost seventy years. Stored him like one too when he wasn't on a 'mission' or undergoing weapons and field training. And the two years during which he'd managed to disappear off the radar – before Zemo had set his sights on him – had in no way prepared him for what was happening now either. He'd been always on the move and it had been safer - _easier_ \- to keep to himself and hold other people at bay as he pieced together his past. But now, to be thrust into all… _this_.

He reached the path between the med labs and the library, and stopped to check his surroundings before crossing the short stretch of open ground. Unnecessary, he knew, but a force of habit anyway. It was still and quiet. Dark too, except for the faint glow of a security light around the corner to his right. Nothing out of the ordinary. He liked to come here at dusk and watch the lightning bugs. They strung themselves out in the undergrowth and lit up the place like Christmas. Reminded him of the tree lighting ceremonies in McCarren Park, before the war. _Throngs of people, the buzz of the crowd, linking arms and singing carols. Music from the band. Speeches and soda. Getting smiles from pretty girls. Him and Steve, laughing and joking_ _…_

There were never any people around when he watched the fireflies here in Wakanda. No music or laughter either. Once the therapists and scientists had gone home for the day, he was the only one left in the fenced-off complex. A nurse had been rostered on for the first few nights but it soon become apparent that that was not necessary. And besides, Bucky was pretty sure the man had been - _uneasy_ at being left alone at night with a brainwashed assassin.

Arriving at the entrance to the library, he stopped and put his hand in his pocket for the swipe card - and froze. The dim night light in the foyer - visible through the glass front doors - was expected. The ribbon of light under the solid internal door beyond that was not. He was the only one who used the library now and he knew he'd turned off the main lights when he'd left earlier that night.

Senses sharpened, focus fixed (some things never changed) _,_ he tested the front doors. They were still locked. A sweep of the building's perimeter showed no sign of a break-in but he discovered an unlocked door at the rear. He cast his eye around for something to use as a weapon and spotted a length of pipe nearby. Left behind by the fencing crew, he guessed. He picked it up and hefted it in his hand; it would do the job.

The unlocked door opened onto a passageway that ran past the bathrooms and led to a back entrance to the library. Bucky swore under his breath as he was forced to put down his makeshift weapon; he would have preferred two hands right now. Pushing the second door open a crack, he scanned the room but the library was all angles and bookshelves and he swore again because he couldn't see very much. Couldn't hear anything either, so that was something. He held the door open with his foot, picked up the pipe, and slipped through.

The bookshelves and walls made for good cover, at least, and he silently worked his way around the room, checking out the hidden gaps and spaces as he closed in on the main study area. So far, so good, he thought as he approached the last corner. Nothing and no one. But as he was about to step out into the open, he stopped short. His eyes were drawn straight away to the low-slung couch in the middle of the room and he stared in confusion. Time shifted. The room too. _Brooklyn again, late 1920s. Before the moneymen took a nosedive and times got even harder. Rug-covered floorboards, dainty floral wallpaper, sturdy green drapes pulled against the night. The small, cosy parlor of home. A polished oak table, dark and heavy under the soft, yellow glow of a floor lamp. His mom_ _'s prized Quaker Lace tablecloth pushed to one side. Buckles and bows, sequins and beads, broken shells and pretty stones, all spilled out on the table, glinting in the light. And him and Becky, heads bent together, poring over the treasures._

He blinked, and the room shifted back. Time too. Books stacked on shelves, scanned and catalogued. Desks with computers. Sleek modern lines… Wakanda. He was in Wakanda, not Brooklyn. Whole lifetimes had passed, and he had to be dreaming. Because curled up on the couch in a Wakandan library, in a froth of sea-green lace and a cloud of wild, coal-black curls, was the fairy from the lid of his mom's old knick-knack tin.


End file.
